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That instant I realized my life was in danger came a couple of years into my 20s, as my adult life was unfolding. My dearest friend, Helen, and I were traveling to Blackburn to visit a former classmate who had just relocated there for work. Overjoyed at the reunion, and reveling in the anticipation of the upcoming weekend of fun, we talked incessantly as we made our way by train from York.

We stashed our bags – containing vital items such as bottles of wine and my brand-new black clogs – in the storage compartment and made ourselves comfortable in a cosy two-seater. Approximately 50 minutes after starting our journey, I was vaguely conscious of a bang. This was followed by a second, this time impossible to ignore. A female passenger shrieked as our carriage catapulted upward in what felt like slow motion. Suddenly, Helen and I were upright in the middle of the aisle, holding each other tight. Looking down, eyelids tightly closed, I anticipated the carriage to overturn and ignite, as I’d seen in films. My thoughts turned to our loved ones receiving the notification. That's when the sound of the little girl crying.

“You’re all right,” I said softly, speaking with a rasp. “It’s all over,” I stated, primarily to calm my own nerves.

Her age was roughly seven or eight, and looked like she had no guardian. Her weeping jolted me from my stupor; now I could do something meaningful. I made my way to where she was standing and wrapped an arm around her. “Avoid looking back,” Helen yelled, but it was already too late. I saw a man with his face covered in blood. A huge metal object had smashed through the window behind us. Subsequently, we discovered a uncontrolled excavator had descended the slope and into the side of the train, making the train leave the tracks.

Our carriage was stuck with its nose pointing upward. Next was the sound of sirens and a man nearby asked me to pass the little girl to him so he could pass her through the window, while young passengers were extracted to emergency personnel below. Not long afterward, Helen and I were also climbing out of the train window and scaling a ladder down onto the railway line.

Once back on solid ground – next to a goods shed in Pudsey – I began trembling violently. I looked for the little girl and observed her being embraced by her mother, we later learned had been in the toilet at the time of the accident. A rescuer graciously recovered my clogs. One of the passengers sat down heavily on Helen’s case, causing it to burst open – however, fortunately our wine remained intact. Following a 30-minute delay, we traveled in a free cab to Blackburn, with a teenage boy and the female passenger who had damaged the suitcase. Our host was there, visibly shaken. She was aware there had been a derailment and a staff member had led her away and made her a cup of tea while she waited for news.

Displaying the fearlessness of young adulthood, we pushed the derailment from our minds and carried on with our night out, which featured a memorable turn by Blackburn drag queen Clitheroe Kate. No one died in the incident, although several people were taken to hospital. Helen and I got away with bruises and aches and pains from the force of the sudden jolt in the carriage. Our speed had been decreasing to approach Leeds station, which had been the primary reason in avoiding serious injury. Since nobody was badly hurt helped not to dwell on the “what ifs” but it was the little girl who made a permanent impression. Taking care of her and reassuring her distracted me from my own fear and taught me the value of looking outwards in a crisis. In the decades since, I have often wondered if she remembered anything about it, and how big a deal it had been for her.

Helen and I have now been friends for over 30 years and Pudsey has become shorthand for our ability to cope any situation, provided we have each other. Being with her that day gave me the impression I was shielded against the most terrifying aspects. The derailment further transformed the way I approach different emergencies, providing me with insight – and reinforcing the idea that, however bad things seem, it is always a privilege to get older.